Swayze always gets a pass
by mtothedestiel
Summary: It's 2009, the Apocalypse has just started, and Sam hears sad news.


_"And in a sad day for movie lovers everywhere, it was announced today by his family that actor Patrick Swayze has passed away at the age of 57 after a long struggle with pancreatic cancer. Swayze was beloved by critics and moviegoers alike for his roles in classics such as Dirty Dancing, Ghost, and Roadhouse…"_

Sam flicked off the radio as he drove back to the motel he and Dean were hiding out in, a bag of fast food steaming in the seat next to him. The car was silent but for the beating of rain on the windshield and the insistent squeaking of the wipers as they struggled to keep up with the downpour. He ran an exhausted hand through his hair, resting on a propped elbow as he made his way through the dismal weather.

Patrick Swayze was dead. It was truly the Apocalypse.

Sam laughed despite himself, blinking moisture out of his eyes. Lucifer was fresh out of the box, he had betrayed Dean on the deepest possible level, and he still got the shakes whenever he thought about demon blood, but this of course would be the thing that _finally_ tipped him over the edge. He shook his head at his own melodrama. Sam just hoped that Dean hadn't heard yet. He was a fan, but he didn't share the same kind of fierce hero worship that his brother had always held for the man, disguised as jokes and witty references.

Sam pulled into the motel parking lot, shielding himself from the harsh rains as best he could as he made his way down the row of identical doors. A familiar song emanated from behind door eighteen as he slid the key into the lock.

_Love, love is strange._ Sam heard the iconic guitar riff as he walked into the musty hotel room to find Castiel sitting awkwardly on their couch, his brother slumped against the angel, dead asleep, _Dirty Dancing_ playing on the grainy TV screen. A row of empty beer bottles and a stack of DVDs adorned the flimsy side table. Dean laid his weight heavily on Cas' chest, mouth slack, eyes red rimmed, one hand curled urgently around the lapel of Castiel's trench coat. Sam instantly regretted leaving Dean alone this morning to hit the local library. Castiel, while sitting stiffly, didn't seem uncomfortable with the lack of personal space, and was considering the television as one considered a very serious novel.

"Hey Cas," Sam said quietly, not to wake Dean, "When did you get here?"

"Dean called me," Castiel informed him, looking away from the screen to greet Sam, "He felt it necessary that I be educated about this actor. I have gathered Dean holds him in high esteem, and he mourns his passing."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, with only a slight twinge that Dean had called Cas and not him, "Dean really loved his movies growing up."

"We have already viewed _Road House, _and _Point Break,_" Castiel said, eyes back on the screen, "Dean tells me once he is sufficiently inebriated, we will watch something called _Ghost_, though I imagine that would be stressful, given your line of work."

Sam huffed a laugh, tossing his soaked jacket across his bed.

"Not our kind of thing Cas," he assured him, "No worries. Anyways, it looks like Dean's out for the count." Castiel considered the man who leaned on him solemnly.

"His emotions are very heavy," Cas said finally, "More than I would expect over the death of a film star. I sense that Dean has used this man's passing as a catharsis for deeper traumas."

"Yeah, well, that's kinda what Dean does, I guess," Sam muttered. There was silence for a moment, interrupted by the dialogue on the screen.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Sam asked, indicating the movie, "At least till the end of this one?"

"Of course not," Castiel said, and Sam sank down onto the couch beside his brother's sleeping form. It was a snug fit, three guys, who were by no means small, on the couch that was by no means large, but Sam didn't mind. There was something comforting about Dean's warmth next to him. It reminded him of when they were still small enough to share a bed, and Dean, in charge of taking care of him while John was away, would tuck Sam in beside him and flick through the limited channels until they found a good movie. Sam would fall asleep to _The Outsiders,_ listening as Dean whispered the memorized dialogue.

"Cas," Sam asked hesitantly after a few minutes, "Do you know-I mean-Swayze, is he, you know…did he make it upstairs?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, when Dean shifted incrementally, muttering incoherently as he adjusted himself to fit more snugly against the angel's chest. Castiel laid a hesitant hand on top of Dean's where it clutched at his trenchcoat, eyes fixed with a near religious devotion. Just for a moment Sam truly understood the depth of Castiel's love for his brother; the sacred commitment of a 'guardian angel'. Castiel looked briefly up at Sam, a soft apology in his eyes.

"It is as Dean says," Castiel assures him with something like a smile as the angel stares down at his brother adoringly, "Swayze always gets a pass."


End file.
